Nesting Weather

Rain on the dining room windows tells me that the weather forecast was on target. With temperatures just above freezing, we're on track to dodge the freezing rain disaster that was predicted earlier and set also to welcome slippery mud instead of fluffy snow. This early in the season, snow is still exciting, but the memory of unremitting drought last summer makes the rain beautiful, even though it lacks the pizzazz of snow. At least it soaks in where it falls, without dragging down power lines and tree limbs in the process, or blowing off the fields, while clogging the ditches and roadways.

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Shane's dog, Brandi, is supposed to have puppies soon. She doesn't look the slightest bit matronly to me--not even remotely ungainly or lethargic. We all hope she waits to do her thing till Shane gets back from Virginia, but, just in case, Hiromi has introduced her to the big pet carrier situated in the greenhouse, with an electric heating pad in the bottom. We locked her in there last night so she at least would get the idea that it's a good place to go to have puppies. Her preferred spot otherwise seems to be with Lexi, under the front porch. That would be decidedly inappropriate since there's no one in this household looking for an excuse to crawl under the porch to retrieve cold puppies.

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Today at school Jonny showed us a glimpse into his farmer life during the summer. We all trooped outside at 2:30 for the featured Friday afternoon activity: learning all about making hay. The 4040 John Deere was hooked up to a New Holland baler which produces big round bales. The family's custom haying equipment includes another similar tractor-baler combination, a swather, and a hay rake. Because the wind was bitterly cold today, we cut the outdoor observation part short and trooped inside where Jonny commandeered Norma's lectern and regaled us with tales of nighttime baling. Jonny confessed that he's not really a morning person, so heading out at 9:00 at night to do the baling is perfect, if the humidity is high enough by then to keep the leaves from falling off the stems, especially if he has a pack of crackers and a stash of Mountain Dew to keep him energized and awake. Daytime baling almost never happens here.

When I asked him if they ever bale anything besides alfalfa hay and wheat straw, I was surprised by the variety of other crops they bale. He mentioned cornstalks, milo stalks, tall sorghum (like sudan), grass hay, and soybeans. Occasionally wheat and oats (I think I'm right on this.) are swathed when the grain is in the milk stage, and they're baled for feed. Jonny didn't mention this, but I've seen it done, unlike the grass hay baling. I'm sure they're around somewhere, but I've never seen a hay field seeded to grass in our immediate area--or a clover field. The soil ph is much better suited to alfalfa than clover, and most of the grass is native, and grazed during the summer, while cultivated fields are used for crops more profitable than grass.

The family rule during haying is that no music plays in any tractor pulling a baler. When a bale is complete, beeps inside the cab announce the fact, and a series of prompt responses is called for to release the bale and allow it to roll out the back. Music might compromise the concentration and perhaps obscure the signals. Music is allowed in the swather and during the raking operation.

Jonny says it's embarrassing to go to sleep while baling, especially if you're working in a field adjoining US 50, where daylight reveals the results to passersby. If you don't straddle the windrows squarely, the bales get lopsided, and if you're too nearly unconscious to respond promptly to the beeps, you might get some monster bales--neither of which are great advertisements for a custom haying operation. In your own field it's not a customer satisfaction problem, of course, but the motivation to move the bales off the field in a hurry kicks in nonetheless.

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Hiromi met two elderly Japanese ladies who came separately through the WalMart checkout line today. He thought he knew all the old Japanese ladies in town, but he didn't know these. They initiated Japanese conversation, probably after recognizing the Japanese name on his name tag. The ladies he knows came to this area during the same time period when his sister Chee (Chizuko) came after the Korean war.

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Hiromi also met Lynn yesterday, the brother-in-law of Hiromi's niece. He informed Hiromi that he is about to become a father again. Their youngest child is 18. Now that would take some mental adjustment. We learned to know Lynn a long time ago when he lived in Partridge, never dreaming at that time that we would someday have relatives in common. A sister in the family was a co-worker of Hiromi's at TSW--another surprising development.

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The number of guests at our singing last Sunday was far more manageable than was the case last time: 19 this time; 40 last time. Some families were away from home, and others had family events that conflicted. If we had known how small the group would be, we wouldn't have bothered rearranging and moving out furniture, and we would have trucked home fewer benches from the church. But it was rather nice to have everyone fit into the dining room for singing, and the small room and compact arrangement made the singing sound good.

As usual, I spied several glaring oversights in the decluttering department after the evening was over, but I decided it hadn't mattered. Who says a naked refrigerator is better than a recipe, coupon, and photo-plastered one, anyway? And the bathroom towels? Hiromi's blue one and my green one belong right there on the shower curtain rod, after all.

Linda and especially Marian had helped a lot in getting ready, and Joel and Hilda helped late Sunday afternoon with hauling benches and preparing food. Heartfelt gratitude to them . . .

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Comp students are working on their research papers. As soon as that is done, we'll launch right into the community writing project. If you notice any class members wandering around glassy-eyed, it may be a sleep-deprivation problem.

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Hiromi wishes Shane's cattle would be a little more scared of him than they are. They're way too glad to see him when he appears with a grain bucket, and they crowd around with no regard for the significant size mismatch that puts Hiromi at a disadvantage. I worry about the bull in the herd, but Shane says he's more docile than some of the cows. I'm glad they cattle are Dexter-sized and not Gelbvieh-sized.

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One of our guineas disappeared without a trace. I heard a big owl hooting in the trees near the house the other night. Maybe he's the culprit. Or maybe it was the coyote Brian saw heading for our place the other night. The guilty predator would be easier to identify if it was clear whether the deed was done in the dark or in the daylight. The guineas usually roost either in a tree or in the rafters of the hog barn, out of coyote reach during the night.

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Wes has been bringing pheasant meat in his lunch during the past week. He was given the birds by someone who had more interest in hunting them than eating them. Everyone at school knows that our principal is the biggest healthful food champion in the place--not that he rants about it. He just very faithfully brings his food in small glass jars, and eats lots of vegetables and some whole grains and fruits and protein--usually eggs or cheese, and never too much of it, and never any junk food. I'm impressed.

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Tomorrow I will bake bread for us and a cake for the rescue mission meal, but mostly I will grade papers. That prospect pleases me.

On Sunday we go to the Mennonite Manor for the morning service and to the rescue mission in Wichita for an evening service. Unfortunately, the evening plans mean that I'll miss Carolyn's baptism at Arlington. She handed out exquisite invitations today, typical of her sweet artistic self, and I know being there would be a blessing.

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Clarissa's brother got married today. Congratulations to Garret and Marsela. Some time I'll have to ask someone to tell me Marsela's family's story. She was born in Serbia (Yugoslavia), and, like Garret, was a Mennonite for part of her life.